K. Weiland - Storming

Here it came then. This old beef about Rick’s claim to have been the first to do the handkerchief pickup stunt.

“Called me a liar, I believe,” Rick insisted.

“You were lying.”

“Is that so, is it?” Rick started nodding, as if he’d expected no less. “Is that so? And that is truly all you have to say to me?”

What Hitch truly wanted to say wouldn’t go over any better. So he just gritted his teeth. “Guess so.”

“Fine.” Rick turned to go and stalked off.

“Looks like you went and hurt his feelings,” Earl said.

“He’ll get over it.” Or not. But it didn’t matter. Rick was always upset about something. He could still jump out of a plane whether his ego was feeling up to full size or not. That was all that mattered.

Earl grunted.

Hitch shot another look around. “What about Taos? Did that kid ever bring him back?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Earl pushed to his feet. “Look, I hate to tell you this, but your good pal Rick is the least of your troubles right now. Qualifying rounds are tomorrow. I suppose we could all go get ourselves some honest jobs, but I don’t think they’d pay out fast enough to do us much good. So unless you’ve got another couple of old pistols to sell…” He spread his palms.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hitch gritted his teeth. The pressure made his headache worse, but even that was better than the only option left staring him in the face. That option had more than its share of reasons why it was a stupid idea. But it also had one very good incentive: $100.

With a sigh, he stood up from leaning against the plane. “If I tell you to stop worrying, will you?”

“Probably not,” Earl said. “What are you going to do?”

“Something I’m likely to regret for a long time. But it’ll give us enough money to get back in the air.”

With any luck, it would also get him out of town with a partnership in Livingstone’s circus and no fear of Bill Campbell ever hunting him down. This thing was already too far along for him not to do whatever had to be done to make that happen.

*

“I’ll do the job,” Hitch said. The words sounded like the hiss of a noose pulling tight.

Campbell wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Will you now?”

When Hitch had finally reached Campbell’s house, half a mile outside of town, the time was along about supper. Campbell’d done all right for himself, living in this smart whitewashed place. Two stories topped with dormer windows, it was too large for one man alone, but likely that was exactly why he’d bought it. He was the big man around here, so he needed a big house, right?

Hitch stood in the spacious dining room, where Campbell sat at a long oak table eating salt pork and baked beans. Campbell’s seat looked out of a tall paned window onto a view of the river and, beyond it, the rugged crag of the Bluff. Around here, that was a prime view.

On the wall behind Campbell, framed newspapers highlighted his many triumphs in cleaning up the town and conquering crime. Photographs showed him grinning with all his teeth and shaking hands with state politicians and city businessmen.

With barely a glance at Hitch, Campbell kept on reading his paper until he’d swallowed.

Then he cleaned his back teeth with his tongue and looked Hitch up and down. “Here you are being sensible and on time, both. Maybe you have learned a thing or two in the passing years.”

Just inside the archway that separated the dining room from the front parlor, Hitch remained standing like some hapless Army private waiting for his captain to return his salute.

He hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and cocked a lazy hip, as if he was at his ease. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

“Condition.” Campbell sucked his teeth, then turned back to his plate. He crumbled off a piece of cornbread and sopped it in the bean sauce. As he chewed, he sat back in his chair and regarded Hitch once more. “What condition?”

“My plane was damaged in the storm. If you want it in the air, then you have to pay for the repairs.”

“And how much is that going to cost me?”

“Fifteen, twenty bucks.”

“All right.”

Hitch raised his eyebrows. “That’s it? Just like that?”

“Why not? Guess that storm was a lucky one for me.” Campbell’s mouth twitched in that almost-smile. “Kind of galls, don’t it? Thought you’d pull it all off by yourself. And now here you are needing my help as much as I want yours. Just like in the old days.”

Hitch’s shoulders tightened. “This isn’t going to be like the old days. After this job, we’re even.” After this job, he’d leave Scottsbluff and never again give Campbell the chance of camping on his tail. After this job, there’d be no reason to come back.

Not unless some miracle happened and Griff decided to forgive him.

“Sure, sure,” Campbell said. “I suppose you’ve heard what your Col. Livingstone has to say about this storm? Griff tells me he’s issued a challenge to any of you flyboys who can figure out what’s going on up there.”

Hitch eyed him. “You don’t buy into that, do you?”

“That’s hard to say, son. But you know me, I always load all six cartridges.”

Hitch made himself shrug. “The storm was just a freak. They happen all the time around here, as I recall.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But if you get a condition on our deal, then so do I. I want you to do like Livingstone says and keep an eye out. Should you happen to find anything, you tell me before you tell Livingstone—or anybody else. You understand?”

Hitch frowned. “Even if something is up there, why would you care?”

“Something’s going on here. I don’t think either of us is dense enough to believe otherwise. Stores robbed in town today? All these bodies?” He shook his head. “What if our folks from around here, instead of these strangers, start falling out of the sky?”

For an instant, the image of Griff spread-eagled in last night’s cornfield blasted through Hitch’s brain. His heart missed a beat.

“Whatever it is,” Campbell said, “it’s a threat to this town and the people. And make no mistake. It’s my town, and they’re my people.” He looked Hitch in the eye. “I don’t take it lightly when something threatens what’s mine.”

Hitch stared back. “Neither do I.”

Campbell eyed him—trying to read his thoughts maybe. “I don’t trust this Livingstone jaybird any farther than I can throw him. For all I know, this is all something he cooked up to get folks interested in his doings. And you’re going to keep tabs on that for me, aren’t you?”

For all that this did sound like something Livingstone might have cooked up on one of his more creative days, he definitely wasn’t at the heart of it. But let Campbell think that.

Saying yes to him on this was the only way to move forward in any kind of positive direction. Even if Hitch did figure anything out, Campbell would never know the difference if Hitch decided later that keeping his mouth shut was the better course of valor.

“All right,” he said.

Campbell held his gaze, then nodded. “Good enough.” He picked up his fork and hunched over his plate. “I’ll let you know when it’s time for the job. My housekeeper’ll give you the money for the repairs.”

“Fine.” Hitch turned to go. He’d done what he’d had to do. But if he didn’t do what he still had to do, he was going to end up in deeper trouble than ever.

*

Hitch trudged through the gnarled grove of apple trees that surrounded the Carpenters’ farm. Nan’d skin him alive for coming here. But so long as her kid had his dog, he didn’t have much choice.